


Every New Beginning

by voksen



Category: Warcraft III, World of Warcraft
Genre: 5 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 20:14:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voksen/pseuds/voksen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four alliances Jaina Proudmoore never made (and one she will)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every New Beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moontyger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moontyger/gifts).



1.

"See if _you_ can talk to her," Varian growled as he shoved past her, his boots echoing down the stone floor of the hallway almost as if he were stomping them for effect.

Maybe he was, Jaina thought, closing the door behind him. He'd calmed down (grown up, the less-charitable part of her mind said) since she'd first met him all those years ago in Lordaeron, but she wouldn't put it past him. The scowl on Tiffin's face was more unusual; she looked like the only thing keeping her from hurling the nearest breakable object at the door in Varian's wake was the fact that Jaina was still standing in front of it.

"So," Jaina said, glancing at the door to make sure he wasn't going to come storming back through it before turning to Tiffin again, "what is it I'm supposed to be talking to you about?"

With a long-suffering sigh, Tiffin sat down at her desk, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Jaina knew that look and that feeling: politics. As much of a headache as any spell she'd ever dealt with and one of the main reasons Jaina was glad _she_ wasn't the one married to the King; she had trouble enough with her father and brother. She laid a quick, silent spell on the door to make sure it stayed shut and crossed the room.

"They all think I'm an idiot," Tiffin muttered, then bit back a gasp as Jaina's hands closed over the tense knots in her shoulders.  Closing her eyes, she leaned forwards and enjoyed the massage in silence for a few moments before speaking again. "Because they refuse to - _ah -_ even consider that I might know more about this city than they do, even though half of them have never even been outside the district. And Varian expects you to agree with him because it has to do with what the house of nobles wants, so of course I'm out of my depth and he must be right."

"He can be a bit stubborn," Jaina agreed, drawing a reluctant smile from Tiffin at the sheer force of the understatement. "What are they wrong about now?"

"Money, as usual. Would you believe they really don't have _any_ plans for paying off the Crown debt? I tried to tell them that you can't expect people who actually need the money to forgive a debt like that, but all they said was 'A country's finances are different than a merchant's' and ignored me. Maybe they are, but that doesn't mean the people _in_ the country don't suffer if the country doesn't pay them."

"They probably don't _have_ the money." Jaina brushed Tiffin's long hair aside, working slowly down her back. "I'm sure you know the numbers better than I do, but--"

"They don't. But they won't consider borrowing it to pay the immediate dues, either. They don't want to be beholden to... to outsiders. It's just stupid pride and spite."

There was definitely an overabundance of pride in Stormwind Keep, Jaina had to admit, enough to make her suspect that no matter what Varian thought, Tiffin really _was_ seeing something real and being ignored. It wouldn't be the first time. "And now that you've brought it up..."

"...they'll either do it and forget I suggested it, or refuse to consider it at all." Tiffin leaned back, looking up at her, and Jaina slid her hands up to settle her arms around her, resting her chin on Tiffin's shoulder. "And it's easier to ignore it and imagine it will disappear on its own. I'd ignore _them_ and pay the Guild myself, but I could pawn the crown jewels and it wouldn't cover a fraction of what we owe."

Jaina smiled at the image, then tilted her head as a thought struck her. "Wouldn't that depend on who you were offering them to?"

"I'm serious about this, Jaina."

"So am I," Jaina said. "If the House won't authorize a loan, Varian's hands might be tied, and yours too, as far as making official approaches, but I'm already officially an outsider in Court politics. And--"

"--and you already have the connections," Tiffin said with a disbelieving little laugh. "Jaina Proudmoore, are you offering to be my _fence_?"

Jaina squeezed her lightly. "If you're right, then there are a lot of people who need help and can't get it. I'm not going to just watch you try to do it alone."

 

* * *

 

2.

"Stratholme's a long way from here," Arthas said grimly, looking at them - well, more precisely, at _him_ \- over the dark-robed corpse at his feet. "We'd better get moving if we're going to chase down this promised 'dreadlord'... that is, if you think you can keep up."

The prince of Lordaeron was... less than subtle, Kael'thas decided, and perhaps a little too smug for his own good.

"Really, Arthas," Jaina sighed - but there was a fond note in her disapproving words.

There must have been some truth in the rumors connecting the two before Jaina had come to Dalaran, after all. Well, no matter: she'd made her choice, and she'd chosen _him_ over the past. "You intend to walk all the way across Lordaeron?" he asked silkily, and got a share in Jaina's disapproving look for his trouble.

"Do you see any horses?" Arthas swept his hand around, gesturing to the burning wreck of the village, where there were, indeed, no horses - or beasts of any kind, for that matter - to be found.

Jaina's hand closed on Kael'thas's arm, quieting him before he could respond and sparking an obvious glare of jealousy from Arthas. "Kael," she said, in much the same tone she'd addressed Arthas with. "You know where it is?"

"Of course." In truth, he'd never _been_ there - a fairly minor human settlement didn't have much appeal - but that hardly meant he didn't know his geography. "Come, we're going!" he called to the priests.

The portal itself was a simple matter; the trip from Dalaran had taken them further than this one would, though admittedly it had been meant for fewer people. Jaina, of course, knew what he was capable of and didn't gape at him like a stunned blond ox as the city's image shimmered into view between his hands. It was a look that suited Arthas, he thought, and raised an eyebrow. "A little faster than a horse, I think, paladin."

To his credit, Arthas recovered quickly and strode forward fearlessly into the portal, the others following after him; Kael'thas held it open until the last footman was through, then entered it himself, deconstructing it as he passed so that no unpleasant little surprises could follow after them.

 

They were already fighting by the time he reached Stratholme. Robed corpses - and a few armored ones - lay around a broken-wheeled wagon piled high with crates. Jaina and the priests crouched behind it, leaning out from around it to cast, then ducking back to avoid the strange swarms of green flame.

Arthas was holding the demon back - more or less - with the help of the footmen who hadn't fallen to the cultists, and doing a better than decent job of it. He covered for his less-skilled companions, never missing a blow, until - _there_ \- he overreached a slam by just an inch, and the clawed hand drew back...

Faster than words, Kael'thas wrapped Arthas in an unsophisticated shield of pure magic, feeling the dizzying drain on his reserves as what would surely have been a fatal stroke skated harmlessly away. He might not have _liked_ Arthas, but the reappearance of the Legion had suddenly made that more than a little irrelevant.

The dreadlord roared his frustration, flaring great batlike wings and sending a foul breeze over the battlefield. "I will _finish_ this! This city - your lives - are _mine!_ "

The surge of magic as Jaina summoned her elemental shivered through him. Before Mal'Ganis could strike again, a cone of ice erupted from the ground about his hooves, locking him into place. Kael'thas knew it wouldn't last long, though Jaina was talented beyond belief for her age - the demon was simply too strong.

"Now! Hurry!" he heard her call, but he had already begun casting, pulling mana recklessly from everything around him to fuel his spell.

Pyroblast, dual frostbolts, and Light-blessed hammer all struck at once, as if the three of them had been fighting together for years instead of mere hours. Mal'Ganis staggered backwards under the force of it, clawing blindly at Arthas and missing. "Your... your destiny," he rasped, choking off as another ice lance found his bleeding flesh, _"...in Northrend!"_

The next blow of Arthas's warhammer caved in the fel iron chestplate; the dreadlord shrieked wildly as his body sublimated into nothingness, metal crashing to the ground in its wake. Kael'thas glanced about to make sure no enemies still stood, then let the fire he held fade away.

From the wagon, Jaina gasped, and the two men turned to her as one. One of the crates had been knocked off the wagon and broken open during the fight; she stood over it, staring in. "It's cursed," she said, "This grain - it's all cursed, too!"

"They were going to give that to the people," Arthas said, a sickened look creeping over his face. He looked to Kael'thas - and if there was still jealousy there, there was respect now, too. "You... will you burn it?"

"We should take some back to Dalaran," Jaina objected. "Antonidas will need a sample to work on a way to reverse the effects of the plague..." Suiting action to word, she picked up one of the still-sealed crates and carefully carried it away from the rest.

As soon as she and the others were well away, Kael'thas lit the wagon; it went up easily, in a dark, greasy roil of smoke.

"I'll have to tell Uther," Arthas said, obviously thinking out loud. " _Demons_ , I can't believe it."

"I can get this grain to Dalaran," Jaina said, "if I go alone. Kael, what should--"

"Do that," he said, the weight of the situation settling heavily on him as the adrenaline of battlecasting faded. "Tell the Kirin Tor that the Burning Legion has returned. I will raise Quel'thalas."

She nodded, made the first gesture of the teleport, then paused briefly to look back at him. "Don't you think this all looks... a little like a trap? Like we're being led around?"

Kael'thas looked back at the ruined demonic armor, remembering his history lessons - less ancient to him than to these humans - all too well. "Yes. But it's a trap we can't afford to avoid."

"For once, we agree," Arthas said. "Destiny be damned."

 

* * *

 

3.

The blade shimmered in the dim cave, a strange sickly glow warped by the layers of ice that covered it, as it covered everything on the whole Light-forsaken continent.

"Aye, that's it, that's Frostmourne," Muradin said from behind him. "Wait, now - let the lass get a look at it first before ye get too close. These old artifacts, they've got a nasty habit of pickin' up curses, and if ye've brought a mage along, ye might as well..."

Arthas had to admit the dwarf was right, though delay after delay - would it never end? "How many times do I have to remind you that 'the lass' and 'that mage' is my _wife,_ Muradin?" he muttered, ill-humor only half feigned.

"Keep yer britches on, lad." (Light, why did he even bother?)

There was a rush of warm air in the tunnel behind them as Jaina finished dealing with the remains of the skeletons they'd shattered on their fight into the cave, burning them away 'til they'd never rise again.  In a moment more, she'd caught up - but just as she reached them, she stopped, shivering with a grimace that he'd seen far too many times since the beginning of the plague.

Muradin sighed heavily. "So it is cursed, then. Well, lass - any chance ye can get rid o' it?"

Jaina swallowed audibly, taking a few steps forward. Arthas resisted the urge to follow her, protect her - she could take care of herself just fine and never had put up with any hint of a suggestion otherwise.

She gestured in brilliant flashes of purple and white, the air around the frozen sword shining brighter with it - but nothing else happened: no sparkles or sudden bursts of flame, no shattering ice, and so he wasn't really surprised when her shoulders slumped in defeat and she shook her head wordlessly.

He'd actually expected it to go wrong, he realized, just like everything else seemed to. It didn't matter. He was _done_ being herded along from failure to failure, dragging the others down with him. Stepping forward, he pulled Jaina to him, hugging her tightly until she relaxed into his arms.

"Well, we've got along this far without it," Muradin was saying. "Nothing for it but to--"

"No," Arthas interrupted, letting go of Jaina. "Listen to me. You two get back to camp - if it's true Father ordered us home, I'm sure Uther is on his way already. Tandred will give in and let him order the fleet about if you're not there, you know it."

"We two? Arthas, it's _cursed_! I've never seen anything so..." Jaina's voice faltered, just slightly, "...evil. You can't be planning to stay here."

He squared his shoulders. Arguing with her was never easy, but this was one time he was not going to give in. Not for this, not with so much on the line. "I have to. Jaina, I love you, but - this is for Lordaeron. I can't just turn my back on the one chance that's in reach because it might be dangerous!"

 _"Might_ be?" Muradin said, astonished. "Lad, ye've lost yer mind. I know ye've seen what curses like this can do - ye told me so yerself!"

"Arthas--"

"No!" he said - almost shouted, really, the sound of it catching on the walls of the cave and running in ripples around and back. To get this far, and then to have them stand in his way - his old friend, his _wife_ \- "I _will_ do this. I must." Fisting his hands, he turned away from them and towards the runeblade. The glow was intensifying now, as if the sword was slowly waking from a frozen dream to its full power.

 

He made it halfway across the cave before the spell hit him full in the back, sending him tumbling down to all fours, body twisting out of his control. _Jaina!_ he tried to say, but all that came out was a horrified, helpless _"Baa!"_

"I'm sorry, Arthas," she said quietly, materializing out of the air between him and Frostmourne, looking at him with set, hard eyes. "I can't let you do this."

Four more steps brought her to the dais as he fought wildly against the magic binding him, barely noticing Muradin shouting in the background - and then her hand closed over the hilt and the world exploded in ice and darkness.

 

* * *

 

4.

Garrosh Hellscream would never listen at the crack of a door.

This was one of many, _many_ reasons that he had no business becoming leader of anything, let alone of any Horde that included the Darkspear. Unfortunately, from what he could make out, the human girl was having no luck getting Thrall to see sense.

Vol'jin could almost admire her tenacity at sneaking into Orgrimmar, where she must have known she'd find no friendly reception if she were to be caught. Hunkering low in the dark hallway, he braced his fingers on the rough floor as he tilted his head to listen more closely. The words were muffled by her magic - he could feel the sharp, arcane tang of it - but he heard the unchanging, stubborn note in Thrall's deep voice. No, Proudmoore was not doing any better in this particular battle than anyone else had - including himself. But there was strength to be found in both numbers and odd alliances; Thrall had taught the Darkspear that himself, and Vol'jin was not in the habit of forgetting lessons bought as dearly as that one had been.

He rose silently, making his way to the front of Grommash Hold where, as always, a pair of Thrall's Kor'kron stood guard. "Bring Cairne quick," he told one of them, and was rewarded with a confused stare. "Thrall be wantin' to speak with him again."

Garrosh was a terrible liar, too.

 

When he returned to the private conference room, Thrall was still talking. He pushed the door open and let himself in, smiling to himself behind his mask as they both whipped around to stare at him with nearly identically shocked expressions.

"How many times ya gonna have this argument, Thrall?" he asked.

Thrall's expression slid to something between stubbornness and disappointment that was growing unfortunately familiar. "As many times as I need to, old friend. I told you - as I was just telling Jaina -" he raised an eyebrow pointedly, but Vol'jin refused to feel guilty in the slightest about listening in when it was strategically convenient - "Garrosh is the best choice for the Horde in my absence, and I _must_ leave soon."

Proudmoore planted her hands on the rough wood table between them. "Is he really?" she said bluntly. "There aren't _any_ other options?"

"After a war, the people want - _need_ \- a hero to lead them. They won't accept anyone--"

He hated to do it, but the dance was already begun. " _Whose_ people?"

Thrall stopped mid-sentence at the interruption, turning to him with a look uncomfortably akin to betrayal. "What?"

"I said, whose people be needin' a war hero? The Darkspear don't need another war, not when there be a chance of avoidin' it. And I haven't heard them cryin' out for Garrosh, either."

He caught a sharply assessing glance from the human, an almost imperceptible nod - then she jumped back in, catching Thrall before he could recover. "And there _will_ be war again over this. He and Varian were at each other's throats in Northrend, with a bigger threat - and the two of us - right there to hold them back. With nothing between them, peace _can't_ last."

Thrall shook his head. "Garrosh is up to the responsibility, I'm sure of it."

"Varian may see choosing him as an act of war."

"Varian Wrynn's paranoias are not my problem!"

"No," Vol'jin put in, "they be only _our_ problem, since you be far away from whatever happens because of it."

" _Vol'jin!_ "

"He's right." Cairne's low rumble from the doorway made Thrall startle again; apparently he'd been so intent on the discussion that he'd missed the slow hoofsteps in the hall. "Garrosh Hellscream lacks patience. Consideration. _Respect_. Peace with the humans will not come easily if he leads the Horde... nor with the Kaldorei."

Thrall looked between the three of them. "You're serious about this." He sounded shaken, as if he truly hadn't believed it before, as if he hadn't heard them when they'd come to him separately - or hadn't listened.

"We all be wantin' only what's best for the Horde, Thrall," Vol'jin said quietly.

"For everyone," Jaina corrected, and he let it stand.

Thrall closed his eyes, visibly steeling himself; Vol'jin could almost see Grom rising in his mind, the heavy ghost of an old, unforgotten friend. "Then... who would you suggest?"

 

* * *

 

+1

"I don't know who you are," she began as she had countless times, pulled back to the automatic teleportation point she'd set at the heart of the Azure Dragonshrine by a stranger's approach. She faltered to a stop: only one woman stood there, and one who looked familiar, as none of the countless others had - although she couldn't remember, not quite, not through the strange fog that clouded her thoughts...  
  
"It hardly matters if you do," the elf said bitterly. "But I know who you are, Jaina Proudmoore, and I know what they did to us. And I will _not_ let it stand."  
  
"What do you mean?" Jaina asked, still trying to match name to face. But there had been so many names and so many faces - and then, arrow-quick, the woman was on her, hand on Jaina's arm as cold as snow. Jaina jerked back, not quite breaking the grip, and was about to blink away when power slammed into her, dark and snarled with Scourge taint. The spell was lost in her effort to manage the torrents of energy that filled, then threatened to overwhelm the drained and half-shattered reserves that had never quite seemed to recover from that last battle with Deathwing's forces.  (When had that been, again?)  
  
She staggered, reeling from the shock of it, but the woman pulled her closer, holding her upright in a parody of an embrace. "You may be the only archmage around," she hissed, "but you aren't the only one with magic, human. Now _go!_ Go back and _change_ it. My story will not end like this!"  
  
Overwhelmed, Jaina reached for somewhere, anywhere to channel the magic flooding her, draining out of the other woman at a rate that would surely be fatal. In the distance, dragons exploded into view, racing towards them. Their wings glinted like metal, bronze and steel-gray instead of black in the thin Northrend light, and with them, clarity tore through her as harshly as the rush of power had: the war - Nozdormu's betrayal - the loop binding them all, Alliance and Horde alike, into the end of time.  
  
 _Go back_ , she thought, _I must go back_ , and gathered the magic, pushing so hard she could feel time ripping around her, the vertigo like teleportation but a thousand times worse. She saw Sylvanas's lips move as she fell away into darkness, but it was her own voice that echoed back to her: _I understand now. Farewell, and good luck!_


End file.
